


Two and a Half Detectives

by KittyOnAKeyboard (AnnaFoFannaBanana)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Ambiguous Relationships, Domestic Fluff, Family, Fluff, Implied Relationships, Kidnapping, Mystery, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are Parents, watson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-16 01:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9268310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaFoFannaBanana/pseuds/KittyOnAKeyboard
Summary: When Alberta-Jane, an eccentric 4-year-old, shows up at Baker Street, no-one expects her to forge a bond with the men in 221B, but it happens all the same. Before long, she becomes an integral part of John and Sherlock's lives and a fixture in their makeshift "family". But when dark secrets concerning the child begin to pop up, they wonder if they're in too deep.





	1. The Girl at the Door

Her eyes were fixed on 221B’s door with an intensity that unnerved John slightly. It seemed as if she was intent on burning a hole into the wood, and for a brief moment he thought he smelled smoke. It was a rather wet and chilly afternoon, with the sun hidden behind large, grey clouds and casting a shadowy light over the city.

With a brown knapsack on her back and a pair of mussed pigtails, the child had a strange sort of gentleness about her, yet contained a faint aura of determination and anger. Rocking on her heels anxiously, she couldn’t have been more than three or four, far too young to be on the streets of London alone, no matter the time of day.

“Excuse me,” John finally called out, stepping back onto the pavement and heading towards the little girl, a concerned look on his face. “Where are your parents?”

She shrugged, an expression not of cluelessness, but of nonchalance, as if she had not thought of such things in quite some time.

“Are you lost?” he pressed, crouching down to look her in the eyes. They were large and brown, as rich as molasses, and almost doe-like in their innocence and naiveté. Somehow, looking into them made John feel somewhat calm, as if they held some type of magnetizing power that drew one in and grounded them, causing a sense of contentment to settle upon all who looked her in the eyes.

“I’m supposed to go in there,” she finally spoke, her voice tentative and shy as she cast her gaze to the ground. Extended eye contact had obviously made her nervous, and he chastised himself for forgetting that such things could scare children. “M- my Aunt Martha’s in there…”

“Do you mean Mrs Hudson?” John inquired, his curiosity slightly piqued. He hadn’t known Mrs Hudson had a niece- especially one so young- and the name ‘Aunt Martha’ actually seemed quite fitting when put together with the woman’s kind and well-natured face. It was a bit odd though, he thought to himself, searching the girl’s face for some sign of relation. He somehow expected to see something familiar in her nose or jaw, something alluding to her bond with the woman, but there was nothing that indicated such a thing.

“I think so.”

“Well, I live in there. She’s my landlady,” John explained, giving her a gentle smile. It seemed to calm the child slightly, and she gave him a tentative one back, her cheeks dimpling as she did so. “If you want, I can go get her.”

He didn’t want to tell her to come inside- he shouldn’t be teaching a child to follow strange men around.

“O- okay,” the girl nodded, shuffling her feet slightly as she agreed.

“Alright. Wait here,” John stood back up and began heading towards the door to 221 Baker Street. “I’ll have her in just a moment.”

Trotting inside, he headed towards the door to Mrs Hudson’s flat, rapping his knuckles against it sharply.

“Mrs Hudson?” he called out. “There’s a little girl waiting for you outside. Says you’re her ‘Aunt Martha’.”

The lock clicked almost instantly, as Mrs Hudson threw open the door, phone pressed to her ear and face flushed with distress.

“Looks like someone found her,” she spoke into the device hurriedly; her face was lined with worry as she hurried into the hall and shut the door behind her. “Yes, yes. I’m sorry about the trouble, Arnold. I didn’t think she’d- Of course. I’ll call you again soon, dear.“

She ended the call and placed the phone inside her flat, laying it on the small table near the door. John stepped back, not wanting to be bowled over by the woman, and watched as she rushed out the door and down the steps. He followed along behind her, jogging a bit, and could hear a small shriek of some indescribable emotion outside. Was it relief, he wondered? He exited the building and headed towards where Mrs Hudson was kneeling, holding the child tightly.

“Oh, Alberta-Jane!” she finally released the child from her suffocating embrace and held her at arm’s length, staring at her and checking her body for scrapes and bruises. Satisfied that the child was in one piece, her face began to cloud with anger. “How _dare_ you run off! Arnold and I were worried sick!”

“I didn’t ‘ _run off’_ ,” the girl told her, frowning. “I walked.”

“Walked? That doesn’t make any difference, love! Walking off and running off are the same!”

“No,” the child (Alberta-Jane, John reminded himself) responded. “Running is faster.”

It took everything John had in him not to laugh at the deadpan manner she spoke in, as if everything she was saying was completely and totally obvious. She almost reminded him of Sherlock- albeit a far more cheerful and bouncy one- in her strangely solemn demeanor.

“Whatever the case, you have been _very_ naughty! Arnold told you to stay put and what do you do? You walk off!”

“I tried to go home,” Alberta-Jane told Mrs Hudson, her tiny face suddenly collapsing in on itself as sorrow engulfed her features. “But…”

A look of understanding crossed Mrs Hudson’s features, and she sent a weak smile in the child’s direction, touching her cheek lovingly.

“Now is not the time for this,” she said, standing up and dusting off her knees before taking Alberta-Jane’s hand in hers. “Why don’t we go inside and have a cup of cocoa? Would you like that, dear?”

“Yeah!” the shift in mood was sudden as the girl perked up and beamed up at Mrs Hudson.

“John, why don’t you come with us?” Mrs Hudson suggested, walking up the stairs and down the hall towards her flat, speaking all the while. “We haven’t had a proper chat in some time, have we? With all your running around and such.”

“I suppose I have the time,” John told her awkwardly, following along and sitting down in one of the old wooden chairs at Mrs Hudson’s dining table. He watched as the little girl eagerly rushed in his direction and clambered onto the chair across from him, giving him a smile even the coldest hearts would melt at. Without thinking, he smiled back.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Thanks for choosing to read this- it means a lot to me. I just want to tell you that this may or may not end up having a bit of Johnlock. Honestly, it depends on how things progress. Just so you know.  
> Updates will also be pretty slow seeing as I'm a student (not to mention the fact that I'm currently dealing with finals).  
> Feel free to give me feedback, or even ideas concerning the story! I'm always open to suggestions.  
> Thanks!


	2. It's Nice to Meet You

The teakettle whistled shrilly as John watched Mrs Hudson putter around, opening and closing cupboards, pulling out cups and milk. It was warm in the flat, a welcome change from the chilly outdoors, and he removed his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. Alberta-Jane held the salt shaker in her hand, examining the object with great interest. Her eyes held an intensity one rarely saw, and John watched attentively as the girl counted the holes in the tiny ceramic object. She was a rather cute child, he thought to himself, taking in the freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks.

"You take milk in your tea, don't you, John?" Mrs Hudson inquired, poking her head out of the door that lead to the kitchen.

"Ah, um, yes," John responded, startled by the woman's sudden appearance. Alberta-Jane looked up as well, her eyes sparkling. "Thank you."

"Aunt Martha!" the girl pushed the shakers to the side forcefully and slid off her chair, dashing towards the woman. "Can I make him the tea? Please? I would be super duper careful!"

"No," Mrs Hudson sighed, brushing the child's bangs out of her eyes and giving a tired smile. "I don't want a repeat of last time."

"Last time?" John asked, watching Alberta-Jane dart around her aunt and tug at her dress incessantly. She was desperate to make the tea, it seemed, and he had a feeling she wasn't going to give up any time soon.

"A few months ago I was visiting her mother and put a kettle on to make some tea. I left it on the stove to chat while it boiled and the next thing we knew, Alberta-Jane was crying," she shook her head at the memory. "She spilled the water all over her arm."

"I have a cool scar now!" Alberta-Jane called out, letting go of Mrs Hudson's leg and running back to John, rolling up her left sleeve as she did so. With immense pride, she thrust out her arm and displayed a large patch of pink skin, making John wince instinctively. It spanned from her wrist to the crook of her elbow, bright and smooth. "My mum says all scars tell a story!"

John was about to respond when he felt a gentle buzz at his thigh, accompanied by the familiar sound of an arriving text. He didn't have to pull it out to know who it was- he didn't have much of a social life. With a quiet sigh, he pulled out his mobile and opened the message. It was exactly who he expected.

_Come to the flat. New case._

_SH_

"I'm sorry to cut this short, but duty calls," he said, pushing back his chair and standing up. To be quite honest, he had been craving a case for the past couple days.

"You're… leaving?" the little girl asked, looking up at him sadly. "But… you didn't even have tea…"

"I'm afraid so," he told her. Without warning, Alberta-Jane's face began to turn red as her expression fell.

 _Oh, no_ , John thought to himself, watching in silent horror as tears began to well up in the child's brown eyes. She was absolutely distraught at this turn of events.

"How about this?" he blurted out, desperate to alter the course of this trainwreck about to happen. "I'll come over for tea another day, alright? And… I'll, um, bring biscuits!"

"Tomorrow?" Alberta-Jane sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "Will you promise to visit tomorrow?"

"I promise," John nodded, relieved. "Tomorrow."

"Okay," the girl brightened up exponentially, her face returning to its normal joyful expression. "Maybe Aunt Martha will let me make you tea, then!"

"I'm looking forward to it," he responded before turning to Mrs Hudson. "I'm so sorry I have to run, but you know how Sherlock is."

"Of course, dear," Mrs Hudson said, smiling at him as he turned to exit the flat. "We'll see you tomorrow."

He gave a quick nod and left, closing the door firmly but quietly behind him. The idea of having a child at Baker Street, no matter how brief the period, made him feel rather uneasy. John wasn't actually sure how Sherlock reacted to children in general, let alone one as over-the-top and enthusiastic as Alberta-Jane, and he could feel the vague sensation of dread building in his stomach at the idea of breaking the news to his flatmate. As he plodded up the stairs, his shoes clunking heavily against the wood, he found himself wondering about the case. He didn't like to say he was "addicted" to it all, but he couldn't exactly say his fixation and desire for such things was truly normal. Pulling his keys from his pocket, he moved to unlock the door, but it swung open before he could make contact.

"What took you so long?" Sherlock asked, standing in the doorway with his usual apathetic expression. With a sigh and a quick roll of his eyes, John pushed past him and removed his coat before heading over to his armchair and settling into it.

"It doesn't matter right now," he told his friend, watching as the lanky, pale man began to pace around the room. "Tell me the details."

"A woman came in, talking about an armchair," Sherlock informed him, his voice low and hurried, as it always was when he was considering such things. His grey eyes flashed in the light, an eager hunger shining in them as he spoke. "Normally, I wouldn't take such a dull case, but she said something that intrigued me."

"What?"

"She believes the chair is haunted," Sherlock said, spinning around with a flourish, his expression full of a strange type of glee. "She claims it moves at night and makes sounds."

"You'd know better than anyone that this woman is mad," John pointed out, peering at his friend in suspicion. "You can't be serious."

"As improbable as it is, I couldn't help but think of a newspaper headline from a few years ago," Sherlock told him, plucking his mobile phone from where it sat on the table and scrolling downwards until he found his target. He tossed it in John's direction without a second, and the second man fumbled to catch it in the air, almost dropping it on the floor as he attempted to grasp it firmly. "' _Family Finds Intruder Living in House'_."

"I remember this," John commented, skimming the article briefly before looking back up at Sherlock. "A man was living in the crawl space of their attic, right?"

"Correct."

"Are you implying someone is living in her house, right under her nose, and comes out every night simply to move this chair and distress this woman?"

"No," Sherlock shook his head, smiling in an almost mischievous manner. "I'm implying someone might be living in that chair."

* * *

Alberta-Jane liked the man. The nice one with the dusty brown hair who gave her _real_ smiles, instead of those stupid fake ones people like Albert gave her. She bet he would call her by her _good_ name, not the stupid one that all the other kids made fun of. She decided to tell him her name was AJ when she saw him next.

"Aunt Martha," she trotted into the kitchen, where the woman was chopping up vegetables for dinner. AJ had a feeling it was a casserole. Aunt Martha seemed to love casserole. "I forgot the man's name."

"John," her aunt replied, not looking away from her cutting board. "His name is John Watson. He lives upstairs with his…"

She paused for a moment, considering what words to choose, before looking down at AJ and smiling.

"His 'special friend'," she told the child. "They live together in 221B. Very nice gentlemen."

"Who's his special friend?" AJ inquired, standing on her tiptoes to get a better view of what her aunt was doing. The methodical cutting of the knife was soothing.

 _Chop, chop, chop, chop_ , it went up and down, over and over, making a little song of its own. AJ had noticed that everything had a song, but when she spoke to people about it they always laughed. She supposed they couldn't hear the songs, and she felt bad for them.

 _Chop, chop, chop, chop_ , went the knife.

"Sherlock Holmes," went her aunt, her words syncing up with the beat of the cutting board.

"Sherlock?" AJ asked, looking away from the shining tool and back up at her aunt. "That's a funny name."

"I suppose so."

"But I won't say that to him," AJ stated, reaching for one of the carrot rounds that had already felt the sharp edge of the knife. Aunt Martha didn't stop her, and she popped one into her mouth happily. "People make fun of my name an' I don't like it, so I bet he wouldn't like it either."

"That's very thoughtful of you dear," Aunt Martha commented. "Turn on the radio, will you? There's going to be a segment about gender roles in British society."

AJ didn't know what that meant, but she did as her aunt said, heading over to the radio and flicking the switch. She sat there for a moment, enjoying the slight crackle and the smooth sound of the newscaster's voice. She wondered how people got that kind of soothing voice. One of her theories is that they drank maple syrup before they went to work, but she had tried that before and it only gave her a tummy ache.

It had been a long day, what with her running away from that stupid Arnold, but she wasn't tired quite yet. Glancing up, she could see that Aunt Martha was occupied with her cooking.

 _I won't bother her_ , AJ resolved, standing up and heading towards the door to the flat. _I want to go meet John's 'special friend'. We'll have lots of fun._

Of course, you always needed to bring a present when you went to somebody else's house. One of her rocks would do just fine, she decided, heading over to her bag and beginning to fish around inside.

"This one is good," she said to herself, clutching a round stone in her tiny fist. John would love it! And the Sherlock guy, too!

Smiling to herself, she exited the flat and closed the door behind her.


	3. Let's Be Friends!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: There is a spider in the chapter. It doesn't sound like much, but arachnophobia is pretty common and I want to be safe.

“A chair…” John said, incredulously. “With a person inside?”

“It’s a possibility, yes,” Sherlock remarked, plucking his phone from John’s hand and tossing it aside with a lazy motion. It clunked dully against the table, the sound acting as a sort of period for his sentence.

The afternoon light was beginning to disappear, being replaced by the fuzzy sort of twilight that accompanies the oncoming evening. He gazed out the window, considering his friend’s words, and watched as the streetlamps began to buzz and fizzle before lighting up one-by-one in a procession of warm luminescence. Tiny spots he could only assume were moths were already dancing around the bulbs, thoughtlessly courting a burning death.

“If I didn’t know you better,” John finally responded, leaning back in his chair and staring at his friend dubiously, his grey eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I would think you had knocked back a few…”

“Look at it this way,” Sherlock told him, folding his fingers under his chin and staring at John with a focused, unwavering gaze. “If one was to-“

“ _John!_ ” a sweet voice rang out from the doorway, making both men turn in shock. Well, John did it in shock. Sherlock did it in irritation. “Your door was unlocked! That’s bad, y’know!”

“Alberta-Jane?” John called out, slightly distressed by this sudden turn of events. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to visit you and your ‘special friend’!” she trilled, running across the room eagerly. “I brought you a present, too!”

“Alberta-Jane…”

“It’s AJ. People call me AJ. Here!” she grabbed his hand and thrust a hard, round object into it. It was a small, jet-black rock, about the size of a chicken egg. Spotted with tiny white blotches, it shined cheerily in the lamplight. He rolled it around in his palm briefly, appreciating the smoothness of it, before looking back at the girl. “It’s from my collection.”

“It’s very nice,” he commented awkwardly. “Thank you.”

“Is this your ‘special friend’?” Alberta-Jane inquired, pointing at Sherlock and cocking her head to the side. She looked a bit like a lost, or maybe just confused, puppy, with her floppy pigtails and questioning eyes.

“He’s my flatmate, Sherlock,” he explained, looking to the other man with a vague feeling of uneasiness. “Sherlock, this is Alberta-Jane. She’s Mrs Hudson’s niece.”

“Interesting stone,” Sherlock commented, grabbing the rock from John’s hand and inspecting it. “Volcanic glass with cristobalite structures within.”

“Obsidian?” John said, slightly surprised.

“Hey! What’s this?” AJ asked, walking over with a glass paperweight in her hands. “You sure have some funny stuff in your flat.”

“AJ, you can’t just go around-“ John began, but was swiftly cut off by his friend.

“ _Artax robusta,_ ” Sherlock clarified, waving AJ over with a calm, indifferent expression on his face. The girl complied with his demand without a second thought, clambering on to the couch beside him and showing him the seemingly fascinating object. John shivered slightly at the sight of the large, dark brown spider trapped within the beautiful transparent bubble. He had always hated that paperweight- he may be a war veteran, but he wasn’t afraid to admit that spiders made him quite uneasy, even if they were dead. “The Sydney funnel-web spider, although it is actually a tarantula. It is known to be one of the most dangerous arachnids.”

“Sherlock,” John cut in, rather frantic. “Don’t say that kind of thing. You’ll scare-“

“Has this one killed anybody?” AJ pressed eagerly, staring up at him intently. Her eyes were full of fascination, hungry to learn from this tall, thin man.

“No. There hasn’t been a death attributed to the funnel web spider since 1980,” he explained, plucking the item from AJ’s palm and turning it over in his hands. “Because of the development of the anti-venom, along with the rareness of bites, there hasn’t been a case fatal envenomation for quite some time.”

“Envenation?”

“ _Envenomation_. The process of injecting venom into something.”

“Envenomation…” she mused to herself quietly. “I bet Aunt Martha doesn’t know that word. Once I learn to write I’ll be able to use it in Scrabble.”

“You can have it, if you’d like,” Sherlock offered, handing the item back to her. “I don’t use it very often, and you seem to have taken a shine to it.”

“Wow!” she breathed, barely able to believe the events that were transpiring before her. With eager hands, she grabbed the paperweight and held it close to her chest, beaming. “You’re so nice! No wonder you’re John’s special friend.”

“Just… Just call us ‘friends’, AJ,” John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. No matter how many times he told Mrs Hudson, it was always the same. After all, they had “all types” at Baker Street. “We’re just regular friends.”

“Alright, but that’s sounds a lot more boring,” she told him, still staring at her brand-new prize with pleasure. “Being special friends sounds a lot nicer.”

“I’m dreading the day you figure out what Mrs Hudson means.”

“Can I be your guys’ friend too?” AJ inquired. “I like you. You’re super nice to me.”

“Sure,” John smiled at her. “We can be friends.”

“That’s good! Oh, now that you’re my friend…” she climbed onto the arm of the sofa as she spoke, attempting to be at eye height with the man. “You should come over for tea tomorrow!”

“Tea?” Sherlock questioned.

“John is gonna come, an’ he said he’d bring biscuits!”

“We’re busy tomorrow,” Sherlock intoned, looking over to John with narrowed eyes. “We’re going to meet with the new client.”

“That can’t be right…” AJ said, squinting in confusion. “John promised he’d come to tea with me and Aunt Martha.”

“Ah…” John let out a small groan, sinking down in his chair and staring at the ceiling a weary expression, obviously displeased with where the conversation was going. He sighed and rubbed his eyes briefly, attempting to collect his thoughts. “I _did_ promise that, but… I’m a grown-up, AJ, and grown-ups have to work.”

“Grown-ups aren’t supposed to lie, either,” the little girl retorted, pursing her lips and glaring at him in an almost comical manner. “You _promised_ you’d come to tea.”

“Well, I never said a specific time,” he told her, attempting to find a loophole of some sort.

“It’s tea! Not ‘morning tea’ or ‘high tea’- just ‘tea’!” she snapped, sliding off the couch and marching over to where John sat, a sour expression on her face. “It’s s’posed to be a bit after lunch!”

“Afternoon tea is typically between four and six,” Sherlock commented, leaning back into the sofa and musing quietly. He thought about the predicament with the same gravity and profound importance as any other thing in his life, as if tomorrow’s schedule would be a turning point in his existence and define his future. John was surprised by AJ’s effect on the consulting detective, shocked at the fact that his friend was speaking to and regarding this child as an adult. It was an almost magical thing to watch, to see this man talk to the girl in almost the same way he spoke to John. “The meeting with our client will most likely end at two-forty five, giving us ample opportunity to return to the flat. If we managed to fit this time frame, we could show up at your ‘tea party’ at any time after three-thirty.”

“So, you’ll come?” AJ probed, staring at the men with bated breath, her body almost vibrating in anticipation. “You’ll come to tea with me?”

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded in response, gazing out the window at the darkening sky. “We’ll be able to make it.”

“Fantastic!” she cried out gleefully, clapping her hands and bouncing up and down, her face full of unadulterated joy and jubilation. “It’ll be the best tea party you’ve ever been to!”

John felt a smile creeping across his face as he watched AJ twirl around the room like a tiny tornado, babbling at top speed about the various things she was going to do for them. He couldn’t catch many of the words, but her happiness was almost intoxicating. He had forgotten the innocent joy children brought to the world, the infectious disease of gaiety and delight they spread.

“It’s getting late, AJ,” he finally said, his voice gentle. “Your aunt probably wants you home for supper. I have a feeling she’s the type of woman who likes meals to be on time.”

“Oh,” she stopped, her face falling slightly. “You’re right. She gets awful mad if anyone is late to eat.”

“Do you want me to take you to your flat?” John offered, getting up from his chair. “We can go down together.”

“Okay,” AJ smiled up at him, pleased. “And you can save me if I get in trouble.”

“Of course,” he laughed, taking her tiny, warm hand in his large one and guiding her towards the door. “Do you have everything?”

“Yep!” she held up the paperweight, beaming at the way it sparkled under the lights of the flat. The funnel web spider within it shone menacingly, sharp fangs pointed downwards and dead, beady eyes watching both nothing and everything. John couldn’t understand how she liked it, but if it made her happy it was fine. “I have Ronny!”

“Ronny?” They began heading down the stairs, the sound of a newscaster’s voice becoming louder with every step. Mrs Hudson had the habit of playing her radio a bit too loud, much to John’s chagrin, but it was something he had learned to live with. “Is that what you named him?”

“Uh-huh! I can’t wait to show him to Aunt Martha!”

“Oh…” John looked away guiltily, suddenly realizing the inevitable reaction that would come from the landlady. It wasn’t his fault, though, he told himself. _Sherlock is the one who gave it to her._ He rapped on the door with his knuckles, his thoughts still occupied with the future of that spider paperweight.

“Yes?” Mrs Hudson opened the door, wiping her hands on a faded, blue apron. “Oh, John! How nice to see you!”

“We found a little mouse in our apartment,” he told her, gesturing to AJ and grinning. “I thought I should return her in time for supper.”

“Alberta-Jane, did you wander off again?” the older woman asked the child, frowning in displeasure before looking back to John and smiling gratefully. “Thank you, dear. I apologize if she bothered you.”

“It’s no trouble. We had fun, right AJ?”

“Yep!” the girl responded. “And he an’ Sherlock are coming to tea tomorrow!”

“Yes,” he agreed, waving farewell as he began to move back towards the stairs. “We’re very excited. Goodbye, Mrs Hudson. Goodbye, AJ. Have a nice evening.”

“Wait!” AJ called out suddenly, dashing over to him. “Wait, John!”

“Wh-“ he was about to ask what he’d forgotten when the girl launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his torso and hugging him as tightly as her tiny body could.

“Bye-bye, John!” she said, releasing him from her embrace and grinning. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Tomorrow.”

“I’m glad we can be friends,” she finished, running back to her aunt and waving goodbye again. “Sherlock, too!”

“I’m glad we can be friends, too,” he agreed.


End file.
